"But Hogwarts has a depth of history that no other school can match."

Hermione was clearly annoyed with the Beauxbatons students. When Dumbledore stood up to deliver his welcome speech, one of the girls from Beauxbatons let out a mocking laugh.

"There's no need for them to prove their supposed superiority by sneering during Professor Dumbledore's speech," she said sharply.

"...Welcome to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said warmly. "I hope, and believe, that you will find your stay here both comfortable and enjoyable. The Triwizard Tournament will officially begin at the end of the feast, but for now, I invite you all to eat and drink to your heart's content — make yourselves at home!"

Dumbledore's approach lacked the stern, imposing air some other headmasters carried, but his warm and grounded style gave Hogwarts a unique sense of belonging — something other schools clearly lacked.

So when the Beauxbatons students started whispering about Dumbledore, a few Ravenclaws didn't hesitate to remind them — quite bluntly — to show some respect for the headmaster.

"Why does Karkaroff keep looking over here?" Harry asked, eyeing the Durmstrang headmaster who was glaring at the Gryffindor table. "And why are there two extra seats at the staff table?"

Considering Karkaroff's history as a former Death Eater, Harry's first instinct was that Voldemort might be up to something — but his scar wasn't hurting, so that seemed unlikely.

"Because you're naturally beautiful," Cohen said offhandedly.

But it was clear Karkaroff was focused more on Cohen than anyone else — and whispering cautiously to Dumbledore. Dumbledore, in typical fashion, didn't say much in response — just smiled and waved it off.

The feast began, and the plates before them were suddenly brimming with food. The house-elves in the kitchens had outdone themselves — there were dishes they'd never seen before, many with international flavors.

"What's this?" Ron's attention drifted from Krum to a large platter of seafood stew.

"Bouillabaisse," Hermione said.

"Blimey." Ron rubbed his hands together. "What's it taste like?"

"Pretty good," Hermione admitted with a shrug. "But it's full of bones."

"I'll give it a shot—" Ron eagerly scooped a spoonful from every pot he could reach.

Halfway through the feast, the Durmstrang students shed their heavy fur cloaks, revealing deep crimson robes beneath. The Beauxbatons students also unwrapped their scarves, revealing their faces.

One of them was stunning — with long, silver-blonde hair that cascaded like a waterfall down her back, piercing blue eyes, and perfect, gleaming white teeth.

Fleur Delacour. Even though Cohen had never met her before, he could tell right away — this was a part-Veela student from France.

"Excuse me, are you still eating this bouillabaisse?" she asked sweetly, walking over to their table.

Ron stared at her, slack-jawed and blushing furiously, unable to make a sound.

"You can have it," Harry said, pushing the dish toward her.

"Ronald, can you try not to embarrass yourself?" Hermione hissed after Fleur walked away, pinching Ron's leg under the table.

"Cough—cough—" Ron was turning even redder, now choking.

"What's wrong?" Harry noticed something was off.

"The bones…" Ron wheezed.

With a sigh, Cohen pulled out his wand and cast a softening charm on Ron's throat. Finally, Ron managed to swallow the bone.

"That—That bouillabaisse—" Ron rasped, still clutching his throat, clearly missing Cohen's point earlier about "the bones" not being the stew itself.

"If it's that good, Fred's got another bowl over there," Harry said hesitantly. "But... you already choked once — are you sure you want more?"

"No, no — not the stew— That girl—she has to be a Veela!"

"She's not," Hermione snapped. "And besides you, no one else was gawking like an idiot."

"Pretty sure some others were," Harry said, nodding toward the Ravenclaw table, where several boys were also staring blankly at the silver-haired girl, just like Ron had been — though thankfully without choking.

"Let Cohen decide," Ron grumbled. "He's good at identifying magical creatures — there's no girl like that at Hogwarts."

"You're the magical creature here," Cohen said dryly. "What, am I a walking Fantastic Beasts detector now?"

"Who says Hogwarts doesn't have girls like her?" Harry added, glancing over at the Ravenclaw table. "Cho Chang is pretty great, if you ask me."

"If you lot could take your eyes off the Veela, Krum, and whatever else for a second, maybe you'd notice why there are two new seats at the staff table," Hermione said, clearly irritated.

She pointed toward the head table.

"Crouch and... Fudge?" Cohen frowned.

Was Fudge really supposed to be on the Triwizard judging panel?

That didn't seem right. Wasn't the Minister supposed to be busy?

If he had time to show up here, Cohen would definitely need to keep a closer eye on Edward... ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net

"What are they doing here?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Probably serving as judges. The tournament's hosted by the Ministry, right?" Hermione replied. "Though I thought it'd be just Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch…"

"Bagman can't come," Ron said knowingly, surprised the others hadn't heard. "He's been suspended — sold top-tier Quidditch box tickets to that dark wizard involved in the terror attack."

"Fudge has that much free time, huh…" Cohen muttered, watching Fudge — though the Minister was deliberately avoiding his gaze. "Still, he looks pretty comfortable in that seat — doesn't seem like he's lost any status or money."

If Cohen didn't get him out last time, this might be a good opportunity to try again — the tournament gave him a perfect setup.

When the feast ended, golden plates vanished from the tables in a flash of house-elf magic. Dumbledore rose to his feet once again.

"The moment has finally arrived," he said, smiling at the students. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to begin. Before we bring in the box, I'd like to say a few words—"

He paused, gesturing toward the two guests at the staff table: Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, and the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Bartemius Crouch.

Fudge still had a bandage on his ear — clearly trying to give off the impression that he was a brave man, wounded in a noble fight against dark wizards.

But no one really cared — the students only had eyes for the thrilling competition ahead.

"This year's tasks have undergone strict review by the Ministry and have been carefully arranged," Dumbledore said. "There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year. These tasks will test our champions in various ways — their magical skill, courage, cleverness, and, of course, their ability to face danger."

"There will be three champions, one from each school. They'll be scored based on how well they complete each task. The champion with the highest total score will win the Triwizard Cup. The one to choose these champions is an impartial selector — the Goblet of Fire."

With a tap of his wand on the box Filch had brought in, the lid creaked open. Dumbledore pulled out a large, rough wooden goblet, its rim flickering with blue-white flames.

Cohen stared at the goblet, trying to make out the various enchantments and alchemical markings.

Too simple, he thought. For someone with bad intentions, this thing had plenty of loopholes. It couldn't verify who had cast a spell on a piece of parchment — all it took was a strong Confundus Charm to fool it.

If Nicolas Flamel had made it, it would've been a lot more secure.